Warwick: The Man Behind The Wars of the Roses

by Tony Riches

  Richard had also sent Lord Wenlock on an audacious dawn raid on Sandwich. He captured Lord Rivers, who was caught sleeping in his bed. His son Anthony and beautiful wife Jacquetta of Luxembourg were also taken prisoner and paraded through Calais in triumph. Richard had been angry when Rivers was helped to escape to England by Lancastrian supporters in the town, although the raid had been a show of Yorkist strength and paved the way for their successful return.

  Now they made their way through the crowded streets of London to St. Paul’s Cathedral to give thanks for their good fortune. The cathedral was much more than a place of worship. Dominating the heart of the city with its towering spire, the great cathedral built by William the Conqueror was a gathering place and focal point, a landmark where important news was shared. Richard was well aware of this and had sent messengers ahead to make sure the people knew of his intention.

  They were well aware of how religion united the people, even more than their loyalty to the crown. In front of a packed congregation, Richard knelt side by side with his father and Edward in front of the altar in prayer. God must be seen to be on the side of York. They thanked him loudly and publicly for his good grace.

  The peaceful tranquillity of the cathedral was interrupted by the thundering boom of a distant cannon, the dull sound echoing around the high stone arches of the nave. Richard’s bodyguard immediately moved closer to protect him. They were all vulnerable to assassins and there were still plenty of Lancastrian sympathisers in London, as well as mercenaries in the pay of the king’s supporters. Richard thought it unlikely that an attempt would be made in the sanctuary of St. Paul’s and cannon fire was the last thing he expected.

  Londoners were used to the sound of cannons to mark special events, yet when a second shot reverberated across the city people started muttering to each other as they speculated about the reason. A woman called out for her children in alarm and some of the congregation began moving towards the arched doorway, soon blocking the wide entrance in their eagerness to leave.

  Richard turned to his father. ‘It seems God has other work for us to do today.’

  His father looked concerned. ‘We have to see what’s happening. It must be coming from the tower.’

  Edward was watching the crowd at the entrance. ‘This is no place to be caught if the king’s forces have returned to London.’

  Richard’s father bowed his head and made the sign of the cross on his chest and the three of them walked backwards down the aisle, then turned. Their men had made a path through the jostling people and they passed through the great oak doors. The summer rain had finally stopped and the sun was unusually bright in the sky. The crowd was watching to see how they would respond to the unexpected Lancastrian attack.

  Richard shielded his eyes and scanned the side roads for signs of trouble. People were running now, trying to reach a place of safety before the real fighting started. A fruit seller’s barrow was overturned in the rush and apples rolled all over the cobbled street to be stolen or crushed underfoot. Their grooms brought the horses and Richard mounted, watching while his father and Edward did the same. He signalled to the waiting mounted knights to follow. Behind them came the men-at-arms and archers, no longer just a show of strength, they were now an army ready to fight.

  They progressed as fast as they could through the crowded streets in the direction of the firing, arriving just in time to see another cannon fire directly into the crowd. A plume of smoke showed the firing position on top of the Tower walls and the stone cannon ball smashed heavily into the throng of people who had come out to see what was happening. Men and women screamed in pain and the crowd surged angrily towards the gates of the Tower. Richard could see there was nothing to be done.

  He shouted to his father over the noise. ‘It must be a Lancastrian rear-guard.’

  ‘The only thing we can do is hold the Tower to siege and wait for them to come out.’

  Edward joined them and looked at the carnage in the street. ‘What are they thinking of, firing into the crowd?’

  Richard took a firm grip on his reins in case the next shot startled his horse. ‘They are playing right into our hands.’ He watched the angry mob gathering around the Tower portcullis. Some had already armed themselves with halberds and others brandished swords. Whoever was in command in the Tower had made a fatal mistake. The people of London would have his head on a spike as soon as he left the safety of the Tower, which he would have to do eventually.

  Richard’s father made a decision. ‘I will stay here and keep them from leaving. You two should take the rest of the men and see if you can track down the king’s army before they return to London.’

  ‘I wish you luck, Father.’

  Edward looked up at the high walls of the Tower of London. ‘The guns have stayed silent for a while now. I trust you can keep them that way!’

  As if to answer his words, an explosion sounded with deafening ferocity. They all flinched as the cannon ball thumped violently into the wall of a building, dangerously close to them. The shot was too close for comfort. Richard’s father led them in a tactical retreat out of range of the high cannons.

  ‘Don’t worry about me.’ He glanced back at the Tower. ‘Make sure the king’s army doesn’t come back here until I’ve had a chance to sort this lot out.’

  Richard raised a hand in farewell. ‘We will be back soon with the king.’

  The rain started again as they gathered their men to march north. They made slow progress as their heavy supply wagons dug deep ruts in the muddy roads. Fast afore riders were sent ahead on the main roads and by noon on the second day one returned with news of the Lancastrian army. The king’s men had been sighted. They were camped in the grounds of an Abbey on the north bank of the River Nene, outside the town walls to the south-east of Northampton.

  As soon as they arrived Richard climbed with Edward to the top of an ancient fort a mile to the west of Northampton known as Hunsbury Hill. They were both soaking wet and the ground was slippery underfoot. There was a clear view from the top across to the Lancastrian camp. Their enemy had been expecting them and was raising a massive earthwork.

  Richard could make out the ominous dark shape of several heavy cannons. He scanned the sloping front of the embankment they would have to climb and saw men at work hammering sharply pointed wooden stakes into place.

  ‘They’ve diverted the river to make a water filled ditch. That answers my question about where we choose to fight.’

  Edward studied the defences. ‘I can see archers. Hundreds of them.’ He looked thoughtful as he spied on the enemy guards. ‘They look even wetter than we are. You know what happens to a decent bow in the rain.’

  ‘We needn’t worry about them being accurate.’

  ‘They look well prepared though. It’s not going to be an easy fight.’

  ‘I am well prepared as well, thanks to your suggestion. I’ve promised your friend Lord Grey of Ruthin an important post in our new council.’

  ‘Grey’s no friend. He’s a turncoat!’ Edward seemed surprised.

  ‘Well, with luck he’ll turn the battle for us. We both know how hard it is to be let down by your own side!’

  ‘We can’t rely on him.’

  ‘We don’t have to.’ Richard looked back at their enemy. ‘If he helps us reach the king I’ll honour my promise.’ As he stared out across the battlefield, he remembered the last time he had seen Lord Grey’s wife, his cousin Lady Katherine. She would not forgive him for the death of her father, Sir Henry Percy at St. Albans; although he hoped she would be grateful if he made her husband Treasurer of England.

  They slid back down the grassy bank of the hill fort and found Edward’s tent in the hastily erected York camp. Their boots were covered in mud and the cold rain water ran in a constant stream from the thin canvas roof of their tent, adding to the puddles forming outside.

  ‘Damn this rain!’ Edward took off his armour. His doublet was soaked through and he pulled it off, revealing his bro
ad muscular chest.

  ‘They say it’s the worst July for a hundred years.’ Richard also stripped to the waist.

  ‘I can believe it.’ Edward grinned at him. ‘I also believe we can turn this foul weather to our advantage.’

  Richard was interested to hear Edward’s plan. ‘What do you have in mind?’

  Edward looked at the sky. ‘They won’t have much stomach for fighting in this rain.’

  ‘You think they will agree to our conditions?’

  Richard’s brother George, now Bishop of Exeter, had persuaded the Bishop of Salisbury to ride out with a message for the king, offering to exchange hostages and seeking a peaceful alternative to fighting. Edward’s answer was interrupted by his groom, who brought dry clothes and gave them both a tankard of hot spiced ale.

  Edward raised his tankard to Richard. ‘If they won’t agree terms, we’ll seize the high ground in a frontal assault.’

  The guards shouted outside and Richard looked to see their envoy had already returned. The Bishop of Salisbury was dripping wet with the rain and had a dour expression. ‘I was only able to see the Duke of Buckingham, my lord. He asked me to tell you that the Earl of Warwick shall not come to the king's presence.’

  Richard could tell there was more. ‘What else?

  ‘He said if you come,’ the bishop hesitated. ‘You shall die.’

  Richard shook his head. ‘Buckingham’s words not the kings! Did he agree to take our message to the king?’

  ‘No. I don’t think he had any intention of doing so, my lord.’

  Richard appreciated his honesty. ‘Thank you for your efforts, Bishop. I know you have done your best.’

  The bishop took his leave. ‘I must change before I catch a chill.’

  They watched him go.

  Edward was unsurprised. ‘There’s only one way you’re going to get a message to the king, Richard. We’ll have to take it to him personally.’

  Richard had grown to like Edward’s youthful exuberance. ‘You’re right. We have to at least try to prevent unnecessary bloodshed and anyway, it’s still raining.’

  By one o'clock there was no sign of a break in the weather and Richard called his commanders together. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the steady drumming of the rain on the tent.

  ‘This weather is hard for your men and horses. It also makes the king’s cannon useless. Our scouts tell us their guns are mired in the mud and their crews gone.’ He looked at their grim faces. ‘We have to advance while we can. The road will soon be impassable. Make sure your men know we outnumber them two to one. No harm is to come to the king or to the men the queen has wrongfully conscripted to fight us. All who wear the badge of the black ragged staff are to be saved. It’s the badge of Lord Grey, who will grant us entry into the king’s camp. All other knights and their squires are to be killed on sight. No quarter. Understand?’

  The king’s longbow men added deadly arrows to the rain pouring on their enemies’ heads as they advanced across the muddy field. Richard marched forward on foot, as the ground was too soft for a horse. He looked over to his flank and saw Edward plunging straight across the water filled ditch, up to his waist in the muddy brown water. He yelled at the top of his voice as he scrambled up the embankment at the head of his men, brandishing his sword and ignoring the arrows thudding into the ground all around him.

  Richard’s men followed, splashing through the deep ditch. The defensive earth embankment bristled with the sharply pointed wooden stakes. Designed to stop a cavalry charge, they made useful handholds for the foot soldiers, who grabbed them to stop from slipping back down the wet mud of the slope.

  Richard cursed the heavy plate armour he had chosen to wear as he led his men, doing his best not to fall in the sticky brown mud. A trickle of cold rainwater had found its way into the padded lining. He lifted his visor to have a better view and saw the king’s men-at-arms were waiting for them as his men crested the bank.

  They clashed in brutal hand-to-hand fighting. Richard found he was being attacked by two men at once and was relieved to see Luke Tully appear at his side, using his sword with deadly efficiency as Edward had been teaching him. Despite their advantage of numbers Richard could see his men were hard pressed, yet they were steadily gaining ground. A rousing cheer made him look to see Lord Grey had been as good as his word, creating an opening in the defensive line and allowing his men to charge through to the king’s camp in the Abbey fields. The battle was soon over and Richard met up with Edward, who was looking for the king.

  They discovered the Duke of Buckingham lying dead inside his tent in a pool of blood. There were cuts to his hands where he had tried to fend off his attacker. His throat had been slashed so deeply his head was almost severed. More of the leading Lancastrian nobles, including Sir Thomas Percy and the Earl of Shrewsbury, were floating dead in the watery ditch. Many others had died on the muddy battlefield or drowned in the fast flowing waters of the River Nene, dragged down by the weight of their armour as they tried to escape.

  King Henry was found sitting alone in his tent. He was unharmed and appeared dazed and confused, shocked by the violent scenes he had witnessed. Richard led him to nearby Delapre Abbey, where nuns took them to the cool chapel. A shrine marked the spot where the body of Queen Eleanor, wife of the first King Edward, had rested nearly two centuries before. He knelt alongside the mumbling king and said a prayer of thanks for the sparing of his life and their victory that day.

  Chapter 15 - Winter 1460

  The joyous celebrations went on for days and Richard felt at last his luck had changed for the better. They had chosen to spend Christmas and New Year at their London mansion by the side of the Thames, which thankfully had survived the worst of the looting. Warwick Castle was stripped to the bare walls in his absence. Fortunately his merchant friends in London had kept at least one of his homes safe.

  He had a successful past year to celebrate. His army returned from Northampton in triumph with the king and established a Yorkist Council with him in full control. The king allowed him to do much as he pleased now that the queen had fled with the young Prince to Harlech Castle in Wales with Sir Jasper Tudor, one of her few remaining supporters of any worth. The last he heard was she had sailed to Scotland, although from what he knew of the Scots he didn’t imagine she’d find much sympathy there.

  Anne and the girls had travelled with his mother from Calais for Christmas. Little Annie, his youngest daughter, was now a precocious four-year-old. She was his favourite and highly spirited, always asking questions and seeking approval, as he had done with his own father as a child. Her sister Isabel was now nine, a demure and attractive young girl, she was much more like her mother, observing and taking in every detail, yet giving little away. Margaret was now grown into a young lady. Although only thirteen, she looked older and he would soon have to think about who she could marry.

  Richard thought of Megan and wondered how she was. Anne had allowed her to visit Margaret at Middleham when Richard was away, although as far as he knew Megan had never been to Warwick Castle or their home in London. He had honoured his promise to Anne that he would never see her and they had an unspoken agreement that Megan’s name would never be mentioned.

  Anne and his mother had been busy arranging lavish banquets and festive parties, inviting the best of London society, as well as important ambassadors from Burgundy, Italy and Germany. Now his wealth was restored he could once again afford the most expensive wine from every country in Europe and the finest minstrels played in their gallery.

  The food they served was the talk of London. His kitchens worked tirelessly to produce endless courses of rare and exotic delicacies. That Christmas, in recognition of Richard’s love of the sea, the banquet included fish of every kind. The giant head of a conger eel was filled with young lampreys. Live lobsters brought all the way from Cornwall were plunged into boiling water at the banqueting table and served piping hot. A whole baked porpoise needed several men to carry it to the
table, to the delighted applause of his guests.

  Richard felt truly relaxed for the first time in ages, finally enjoying the rewards of all his hard work. His one regret was that his uncle the Duke of York had not won over the council or the people when he returned from Ireland. The duke had left for his home at Sandal Castle to prevent his tenants from being harassed. Richard’s brothers and father had travelled home to look into the rumours reaching London. It was said that Queen Margaret was raising an army from the last remaining Lancastrian supporters in the north.

  All his guests had left and Richard was enjoying having a quiet time with his family. A log fire blazed in the hearth and his daughters were playing happily with the new toys he had given them. Isabel had a perfect scale model of his flagship, complete with working rigging and little brass cannons on the deck. Annie had a beautifully carved set of wooden soldiers, led by a brightly painted knight on a white horse.